


Now See the Invisible

by Green



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Post-War, Snape Lives, magical sex, powerful!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's magic begins to grow following Voldemort's defeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now See the Invisible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoozetteR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoozetteR/gifts).



> written for the Secret Snarry Swap, the prompt was Powerful!Harry. many many thanks to lim for beta reading and britpicking.

Harry still can’t get the scent of burning flesh out of his nose, even after he’s left Mungo’s and has Apparated to Hogwarts. 

McGonagall is waiting for him as he walks up the broken path. “Your owl seemed urgent,” she says.

“I nearly killed one of the other Auror trainees today,” Harry says immediately. It’s starting to rain, a light drizzle that sticks to his clothes and hair and glasses.

“Come in, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall says.

He looks up at the crumbling facade of his former school, looks at the many, many cracks in the castle and the places where there’s just no castle _left_. He walks through doors that are mostly intact, but that doesn’t change what he’s seen.

He doesn’t remember it being as bad before, months ago, when he and his friends had finally left for home (Hermione to her parents’, Harry with the Weasleys to the Burrow). They had been in shock.

The true joy and pain had come after they left Hogwarts.

McGonagall leads him to a corner to sit down. No one else is about. For some reason, Harry thought there would be other wizards and witches in Hogwarts, setting the place to rights again. But it seems to be just the two of them.

There is tea waiting, though. McGonagall pours. There’s nothing special about the tea; it’s just hot and sweet and strong. It seems to calm Harry a bit, though. He didn’t realize he’d been breathing erratically until he felt himself relax and let out a shaky breath.

“Let’s catch up,” McGonagall says. “How have you been? How is Miss Weasley?”

He clenches his hand tightly where it rests on his thigh. He feels his magic build like a fire inside him. “She broke it off,” Harry admits. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud since the incident with the crockery and the explosions. He looks at his hand and forces it to relax. The magic settles again.

McGonagall tilts her head and peers into his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s right to be … to be afraid of me,” Harry chokes out. “Look at what happened today.”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall says. “I want to help you, but you need to tell me exactly what has been happening.”

So Harry tells her. He has to keep stopping to breathe, afraid his magic will get out of control again. 

“I love magic,” Harry says when he’s told her all he can. “But I’m afraid of myself. Even the simplest charms turn violent. I think … I think I have to go back to living as a Muggle. I think that’s the best thing for me.”

“That is the absolute worst thing you could do,” McGonagall says sharply.

“I _can’t_ do magic. I’m dangerous to everyone around me,” Harry says. 

“You need to be trained to deal with your new level of magical energy,” McGonagall says. “What you need, Mr. Potter, is a teacher.”

For the first time since he nearly burnt his fellow Auror trainee to death, Harry feels something loosen in his chest. “Can you teach me, then?”

But she’s shaking her head. “Not me, no,” McGonagall says. “But I do know of someone.”

“I’ll do anything,” Harry says, perhaps a bit rashly.

She gives him a sharp look. “You well may have to,” she says.

* * *

The door to the old DADA classroom is completely intact, and Harry’s not sure if he should knock or just walk in. He’s more anxious than he’s been in months, and his mind is full of questions like, ‘How is it that you are alive?’ that he wants to fire at Snape the moment he sees him again.

He knocks. The door opens on its own. He walks into the room, but it’s too dark to see. He holds his wand in his hand, just from habit now.

Everything is _blackness_ , but Harry does not incant _Lumos_ for fear of what it might do. He’s afraid it would set fire to the entire building.

“I can’t see you,” Harry finally says.

“You’re afraid to use magic,” comes the smooth, familiar voice. Snape is to the right, near the back of the classroom. Harry automatically turns that way, but he still can’t see anything.

“Is that a question? Yes. I am,” he says.

“Put your wand away, Potter,” Snape says. “You won’t need it today.”

Harry does as he’s told and slips his wand into his sleeve. After all these years of fighting, he feels naked without it. Vulnerable in a way he isn’t at any other time. 

A light begins to bob in the air in the middle of the room. It’s a small orb, about the size of a tennis ball, and it’s the warm yellow of candlelight. Snape walks toward it-- Harry can finally see him. He’s dressed all in black, but in Muggle clothing: a shirt, trousers, and shoes that are halfway between scuffed and shined. His hair is tied together loosely at the nape of his neck.

Harry feels like he has never met this man before; he looks so different. 

“Have you quite finished?” Snape asks, and Harry realizes he’s been staring.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, ducking his head away so that he can’t see Snape’s glinting black eyes. He’s still not entirely convinced Snape can’t read minds.

“Are you ready to learn?”

Harry is, but he’s not sure he can learn from Snape’s own brand of teaching. “Yes. I don’t want to have to live as a Muggle for the rest of my life. I don’t want to be afraid of what I might do.” Or have others be afraid.

“When did your magic become unmanageable?” Snape asks. He sounds … it’s odd, the way he’s speaking. He hasn’t snapped at Harry once. He hasn’t sneered, nor has he berated him. He’s behaving, well, with _civility_. It’s disturbing -- another unknown in a series of unknowns. 

“After we defeated Voldemort,” Harry says, and then blurts, “Why are you doing this for me?”

Snape ignores Harry’s question and asks, “Did it happen all at once, or has it been a gradual building?”

“Gradually, definitely,” Harry says. “At first my spells just had a bit of something extra … something, you know? Then they started getting too powerful.”

“The easiest spells are the worst?” Snape asks.

“How did you know?” 

Snape arches a brow. It’s not an unattractive expression. “It stands to reason that the spells that use the least amount of magic are going to be the ones overpowered by what you have now. I suggest you try the so-called easy spells using wandless and perhaps even wordless magic.”

“Isn’t there a way to just get rid of all the excess magic? Or is there a dampening potion I could take?” Harry asks desperately. He doesn’t want all this power. Wandless and, oh Merlin, _wordless_ magic are things that he’s heard whispered that Voldemort could do. And powerful wizards were mostly evil, weren’t they? Wasn’t wordless magic _Dark_?

“Potter!” Snape barks. “Yes, there are ways to ‘get rid’ of magic, but not the way you are thinking. I have some ideas for you, however. As for a dampening potion, those are never for use in this kind of situation. For children with uncontrollable accidental magic, perhaps, but not for you. It isn’t a solution that would work over time.”

Harry takes some deep breaths. Snape isn’t afraid of him, even though he’s surely heard by now what happened to Gabe, and how Harry put him into St Mungo’s with a simple _Lumos_. Hell, the entire Wizarding world knew by now, thanks to the _Prophet_.

“You didn’t answer me before,” Harry says quietly. “Why are you helping me?”

Snape looks lost for words for a moment, then snorts. He doesn’t look at Harry when he says, “Don’t I always?”

Harry knows it’s true, but the words still surprise him. 

“Now, I suggest we get on with the lesson before dinner,” Snape says briskly. 

Harry looks up. He’s ready.

“You will master a wandless, wordless spell first,” Snape says. “That is what the orb is, here. It’s a candlelight charm. I’m not even going to tell you the incantation, because I want you to simply will the light into being. It will take considerable magical energy and concentration on your part.”

“I can’t-” Harry says, then bites down hard on his tongue to keep from saying anything more. The pain is a sharp point of focus in his mouth. “How?”

“Close your eyes and visualize the orb you’ve seen,” Snape says, his voice silky. “Then gather your energy and push it into becoming solid.”

No incantation. No wand. Just his magic and his will. 

“I don’t understand the part about where I gather my magic together,” Harry says. He hates to admit to Snape that he doesn’t know something.

Snape steps behind him and moves in close. “Shut your eyes,” he says, so soft it’s almost a whisper.

Harry closes his eyes.

“Think of the way it feels right before you cast a spell. The way the magic rushes into your wand from your own core,” Snape says. “Think of how it feels just before you open your mouth to incant the spell. There’s a gathering of energy. It’s a subtle feeling, but it’s there. Now that you have more magical energy, you’ll be able to feel it even more.”

Breathing in and out, slow and controlled, is the only way for Harry to keep himself calm. Snape standing so close is doing strange things to his chest -- it feels tight, like he might not be able to get enough air on the next inhale. His stomach, too, is feeling different. Like the way it felt the first time he kissed Ginny. 

All the air leaves his lungs in a rush as that comparison sinks in. Is he … Does he …

_Snape?_

“Potter, concentrate!” Snape snaps out. 

Harry flinches when Snape puts his hands on his shoulders, but then relaxes slowly. Snape doesn’t squeeze too tightly nor does he let go. He rests his hands there on Harry, thumbs pointed inward toward Harry’s neck. It is strangely intimate, but it’s grounding. Harry breathes through the confusion of his feelings and then lets them float away. He focuses on his energy, at a gathering place somewhere behind his sternum. 

“Better,” Snape murmurs.

“You can feel it?” Harry says quietly.

Snape’s hands tighten for a moment, then go back to their rested position. “Yes.” It seems that he will say more, but then he doesn’t. Harry is left to wonder just what Snape is thinking.

Harry nods jerkily, then extends his hand. It seems natural that he’d make a light he can hold in his palm. He wants an orb like Snape’s, a gentle glowing ball of illumination. The magic flows out from his chest, down his arm, just a trickle at first until it becomes a stream of energy that fills his hand. He can feel heat with his fingers. Behind him, Snape sucks in a breath. 

Harry opens his eyes to see what he’s created. It’s larger than Snape’s orb, but that isn’t what’s so surprising. Instead of a soft glow, Harry’s orb is a ball of fire. How he’s not burning his fingers he doesn’t know. His first instinct is to fling it away from him, but then he thinks he should pull his magic back. 

“No,” Snape says, his hands tight on Harry’s shoulders now. "Don’t pull it back inside you.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, his voice higher than he would have liked.

“Because you need to use your magic, not suppress it. Just try cooling the fire with more.”

This time, the magic flows out of him like a river, dousing the fire in his hand and then travelling over to Snape’s orb as well, freezing the orb so that it falls to the floor and shatters, plunging the room into darkness once again.

The only thing that breaks the silence is Snape’s breathing, quick and shallow. The room temperature has dropped sharply.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. He wonders if Snape is afraid of him now, too. He knows if he asks Snape will say no, no matter if he is or not. Snape’s hands are warm now on Harry’s shoulders, and he’s standing closer, close enough that Harry can feel his breath against his hair and the nape of his neck. It’s not unwelcome, Harry is surprised to find. There is a tension in the darkness that Harry can’t put a name to. 

“You did as you were told,” Snape says crisply, pulling away and breaking the strange mood. “You simply need to learn control.”

“Thank you,” Harry says.

“Will you be staying here?” Snape asks after he waves his wand and uncovers the windows. Late afternoon sunlight streams in and makes them both squint against the sudden brightness of it.

“McGonagall offered. I don’t want to impose, though,” Harry says.

“You can earn your keep by helping rebuild,” Snape says almost kindly. “One of the best things you can do is expend your magical energy, and there are plenty of ways to do that here.”

Harry blinks. He can’t take it any more, really, this not-Snape-man who speaks to him like a person. “Why are you acting like this?” he blurts. “You’ve always hated me, you’ve never been nice to me! You’re helping me, that’s ... you’re right, you always do, but where are the snarling comments, the, the-”

“Potter! Calm yourself,” Snape says.

“At least throw something!” Harry demands. “I don’t know how to deal with this!”

Then a strange thing happens. Snape’s shoulders begin to shake and a foreign sound escapes him. He’s laughing. Laughing! Harry watches in absolute fascination as Snape’s cheeks turn pink with what can only be called mirth. Harry’s heard Snape laugh before, of course, derisive snorts and evil cackles. But this is pure humor and … dare he even think it? Happiness.

“I don’t know how to deal with this,” Harry says again, this time in a confused mutter. 

“Potter,” Snape says when he’s caught his breath again. His black eyes are sparkling with something not unpleasant. It does strange things to Harry’s gut. “The Dark Lord is dead. I’m alive. _You’re_ alive. When those things are true, what do I really have to be bitter about? The past is the past, and for once in my life I have a future.”

It’s more honest than he’s ever heard Snape, Harry thinks. He nods, slow and hesitant.

“Do you understand?” Snape asks.

No more fighting. No more hiding. No more death and destruction at every turn. For Harry, it’s only been a few years. Snape’s had to deal with these things for most of his adult life. Harry does understand, though he can never fully grasp what Snape did for all those years.

“I think I understand more than you know,” Harry says quietly.

Snape gives him a piercing look. This, at least, is familiar. “Perhaps you do.”

* * *

Harry is slowly getting into the rhythm of life at Hogwarts. He has breakfast in his quarters, then walks through the grounds and halls looking for hazards that should be repaired as soon as possible. He writes the spots down in a notebook with his biro, to be shared with McGonagall later. Lunch is taken in the kitchen or, when he’s feeling strong-stomached enough, with Hagrid. Then he has a lesson with Snape. At first the lessons are short, only until tea, until Harry mentions his list of hazards and pitfalls to Snape.

The first time they take tea together, Harry isn’t sure how to act. He isn’t used to niceties from Snape, so when he’s first offered biscuits (Jaffa cakes, one of Harry’s favorite Muggle treats) he doesn’t take the proffered plate because he’s too busy staring at the biscuits as if they’d grown teeth.

“It’s a bloody Jaffa cake, not a nest of vipers,” Snape says, and shakes the plate irritably.

“Right,” Harry says faintly. “I s’pose you would’ve already poisoned me thoroughly by now if you were going to.”

Snape smirks as Harry takes a biscuit and shoves it into his mouth to keep from saying anything else.

“You said you had a list?” Snape asks after Harry has a chance to chew and swallow.

“Right,” Harry says, pulling his small spiral notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans. It’s nearly folded in on itself from being sat on, so Harry does his best to straighten it out before handing it over.

“You’ve been noting things for days, I see,” Snape says quietly, a thoughtful murmur as he flips through the pages. “You can do much of this on your own.” When he looks up, his gaze is almost accusing. “Why haven’t you?”

Harry tightens his grip on his cup for a moment, then sets it down before he breaks it. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Harry sets his jaw angrily. “Because I’m not ready yet. My control isn’t where it should be, and my levitation spells could send a two-ton rock into Hogsmeade!”

Snape raises his eyebrows and says mildly, “You aren’t quite that powerful.”

“Yet,” Harry snaps. “My magic is still growing, I can feel it.”

“You’re still afraid,” Snape says.

“Obviously!” Harry yells. He stands and begins to pace, running a hand through his hair. “I’m hiding here, away from the rest of the world, all my friends and my girlfriend are afraid of me, the bloody newspaper is running stories about how I’m the next Dark Lord! Yes, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of becoming what they think I am.”

Hands on his biceps stop him from taking another step. At some point, Snape moved in front of him without a sound, and now he stands there, his long fingers wrapped around Harry’s upper arms, his head tilted, looking directly into Harry’s eyes. “You are not him. You could never _be_ him.”

“Because I’m just that good and virtuous, I suppose?” Harry sneers. He knows he’s not a savior. He’s only human.

For a moment, Harry hears an unspoken _Because I would never allow it_ and wonders if Snape will say it aloud. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he says, “You don’t want that power, Harry.”

Hearing Snape say his name snaps him out of whatever mood he’d been in. “How do you know that?”

“Because I know the kind of man you are,” Snape says, surprising Harry yet again. So Snape didn’t see him as a snotty-nosed brat any longer. 

Harry can’t stop pushing, though. “What kind of man is that?”

Snape bends his head a bit so that their eyes are even with each other. “A good one.”

It’s not a kiss Harry wants at that moment, though that would be strange enough. No, Harry wants to lean in and rest his head on Snape’s bony shoulder, his face turned into Snape’s neck so he can breathe in and learn the scents that make up Snape’s unique smell. Would he smell of ozone, like the promise of lightning before a storm? Does he still smell of potions, acrid or sweet? Or does he smell simply of soap and washing powder?

“I think we should get started on your list as soon as possible,” Snape says, dropping his hands and breaking whatever spell Harry was under.

“We?” Harry asks. “You’ll help?”

Snape nods. “Someone has to watch to make sure you don’t muck it up.”

That’s a joke. Snape is joking. Harry laughs, shakes his head, and sits down with his tea and biscuits.

* * *

As much as Harry is getting used to the power and accepting it for what it is, the Daily _Prophet_ is spinning wilder and wilder tales of a grim future with Harry as the next Dark Lord.

_Sources close to Miss Ginny Weasley, Potter’s ex-fiancee..._

“Fiancee?” Harry whispers under his breath as he reads. “I never asked her to marry me, I’ve never even come close!”

“I’m surprised you still have a subscription to that nonsense rag, Potter,” Snape says as he walks in. Harry’s been using this room for breakfast instead of sitting up in his rooms. Harry refuses to jump just because Snape is unexpected. He doesn't even turn round.

“They say Ginny broke up with me because she could see the ‘potential for utter darkness inside’ me,” Harry says. 

Snape snorts. “And you know how accurate what ‘They’ say can be,” he says drily.

Harry ignores him for the moment. “And ‘Potter’s closest friends confess they are afraid’, which is pretty close to the truth.”

“I’m certain your friends are afraid for you, not of you,” Snape says. “You’ve made it worse by hiding in the castle.”

Harry gives him a sharp look. “You aren’t in a position to lecture me about hiding. The world thinks you’re dead.”

“I’d rather be dead than in prison,” Snape says testily.

For a moment, Harry can’t speak. Then he says, “But what you did for our side... You’re a-”

“If you call me a hero I will send a killing curse your way before you can finish saying it,” Snape says. “I’m nothing of the sort.”

Harry closes his mouth and keeps the word inside, even though he believes it with his whole heart. “You should at the very least have your freedom.”

“Freedom to what, Potter?” Snape asks. “I don’t want a normal life, I couldn’t have one if I tried, nor would I know what to do with one.”

“So you’re going to hide here in Hogwarts for the rest of your life?” Harry asks.

“I haven’t decided. I could move. This country isn’t the only place I can live.”

The thought of Snape being so far away sends something cold deep into Harry’s belly. “Let me help you. Maybe you don’t want a normal life, but you should be able to take a walk down Diagon Alley and not be bothered.”

“Help me how?” Snape says archly. “The Wizarding world believes you are the next Dark Lord.”

“Touche,” Harry mutters. “I guess I should take care of that.”

“If I may make a suggestion?” Snape asks.

Harry laughs. “Just tell me what you think. You always do.”

“Talk to your friends first, clear up the misunderstandings,” Snape says. “Then you can tackle your public identity.”

* * *

The morning before Harry leaves to talk to Ron and Hermione, he receives an owl from Ginny, begging him for a chance to explain herself. He writes back, maybe more tersely than is appropriate, that whatever she has to say can and should be said in a letter.

Then he floos to Hermione’s new address. 

He’s got a bit better at stepping out of the floo: he can land on both feet, it’s just sometimes that his feet are crossed over each other and he still trips up and ends up covered in ash and humiliation. Luckily, Hermione and Ron are used to this.

They’re waiting for him in front of the fireplace, tense expressions on their faces. Harry chooses to ignore that and look around the flat and smile. “This place is brilliant,” he says.

That makes Hermione’s eyes soften and she’s smiling back just as fast as she can. “It’s small at the moment, but we’re thinking of adding some Wizarding space and turning that big cupboard into a library.”

“We?” Harry asks, although he’s already guessed.

Ron blushes. “We’ve moved in together.”

Harry grins at Ron’s embarrassment, then claps him on the back. “Good on you.” It’s not a surprise, though he’s sure the Weasleys are pushing for them to get married. Hermione wouldn’t want to rush into anything, though, Harry’s sure of it. They’re young.

“Sit down, we have chairs! I transfigured them myself,” Hermione says.

“Of course you did,” Harry says good-naturedly, sitting down on a perfectly comfortable chair. It’s small, but it fits the room.

“Where’ve you been?” Ron asks suddenly. Not angrily, but maybe a bit testy. Like he’s been worried and now he’s upset that Harry’s alright after all. Hermione has her determined face on, like she’s been just as worried over it.

“Hogwarts. I sent an owl; I told you I was okay,” Harry says.

Ron looks confused and Hermione asks, “But no one’s there. Were you all alone?”

“McGonagall is there,” Harry points out. “And Hagrid. And … Snape.”

“Snape!” Ron belts out. His face flushes pink as he splutters. Finally, he says, “But he’s dead!”

“You said...” Hermione says, leaving Harry to fill in the blanks.

“He lived, with some magical help. I’m not sure how, he hasn’t given me any specifics,” Harry says. “But he’s been helping me with my magic. He’s different.”

“What do you mean he’s helping you?” Ron yells. “He’s _Snape_.”

Annoyed, Harry says, “Yes, and helping me is sort of what he does all the time.”

“You said he’s different?” Hermione asks, looking thoughtful.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. He’s civil to me, at the least. He’s almost nice. Definitely helpful, and I’ve really needed the help ever since I torched Gabe with my _Lumos_.”

Both Ron and Hermione wince at the mention of Harry’s accident. “It’s all over the paper,” Ron says. “They’re saying you’re too powerful, and of course they took what we said about you out of context.”

“I know,” Harry says with a frown. “But as for being too powerful, maybe I am. But there’s no way to stop that, I just have to learn how to manage it.”

“And … Snape is teaching you how to do that?” Hermione asks, almost timidly.

“Yes. Watch,” Harry says, hand outstretched before willing an orb of light into his palm.

Ron makes a choking noise and says, “You didn’t say a word and you did it without your wand!”

Harry extinguishes the light quickly with a burst of cold magic. “It’s the only way I can do small spells now. It’s got to where I almost forget I’m supposed to use a wand.”

Hermione looks intrigued, but Ron says, “You can’t go around doing that, people will think you’re-”

“What?” Harry asks. Hermione looks at Ron for an answer as well.

“Dark!” Ron says. “Harry, mate, even Dumbledore used a wand, and he was one of the most powerful wizards we’ve ever seen.”

“But Harry’s just doing magic differently, why is it such a problem?” Hermione asks.

“Because it just isn’t done!” Ron says. “Look, I’m not afraid of you or anything, Harry. That’s not what this is. I’m just worried what people will say.”

“Let them say it,” Harry says. “I’m not hurting anyone and I don’t plan to. I’m not Dark; that’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it is,” Hermione says firmly. “But you know how powerful public opinion is, Harry. We just don’t want anyone calling for you to be put into Azkaban.”

“Let them!” Harry says, feeling defiant. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Mate, you put poor Gabe Littletips into St. Mungo’s for a full two days,” Ron says. “If it wasn’t for modern magical miracles, he’d be... well, I don’t know what he’d be. Scarred for life, most likely.”

Harry feels all the breath go out of his body at once. “It was an accident,” he says, unsure.

“Can you promise it won’t happen again, though? Can you prove it?” Hermione asks.

On this, Harry is on more steady ground. “Yes. Well, I can get there, it’s only been a fortnight. But with Snape’s help-”

“Why’re you trusting that dreadful old git?” Ron asks. “He’s probably setting you up for something.”

Harry feels his lips quirk. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Ron says. “Something … nefarious.”

“That’s a N.E.W.T. level word,” Harry teases him, trying to keep things light. 

Hermione perks up. “Do you think Hogwarts will be open again so that we can take our N.E.W.T.s?” she asks. “Or if we could retake our last year...”

Ron groans. “Don’t borrow trouble. Only you, Hermione.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. He’s glad to be off the subject of Snape. He doesn’t need to be thinking overlong about the man; his feelings are going in all different directions. “We’re actually repairing the castle. That’s what we’ve been doing for the past week.”

“What, just the four of you?” Ron asks.

“Yes. Some construction and reconstruction spells that normally take a crew of wizards and witches work quite well when I’m concentrating hard enough. It’s been brilliant, actually,” Harry admits.

Hermione smiles and Ron looks a bit mystified. 

“You know, Harry,” Hermione says slowly. “There were really loads of businesses and houses and things destroyed in the past year or so. You could do a lot of good for them, and it would put people firmly on your side if, say, the _Quibbler_ did a piece about it.”

Harry bites his lip in thought. It’s a good idea. “I’m not really ready to do it on my own, yet.”

“Then let Professor Snape help you,” Hermione says. Ron makes a choking noise beside her.

Harry wants to grin at Ron’s reaction, but the suggestion is too serious. “I think he wants to stay hidden. The world thinks he’s dead and … maybe he likes it that way.”

“Or maybe he thinks that’s the only way he can survive,” Hermione points out. “If you both came out with the truth about his role in the wars, and had him help-”

“Won’t work,” Harry says, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” Hermione asks.

“Because he bloody well killed Dumbledore!” Ron says. “This post-war cleanup might work for someone like Malfoy, but not for Snape. He went too far.”

“On Dumbledore’s orders!” Harry says. He feels shaky inside, and overwarm, ready to defend Snape to the end. He hadn’t realized he felt so strongly about this, but things have changed dramatically.

“That won’t mean much, Harry,” Ron says. “It’s still murder. The law is the law.”

“The Ministry bends the law all the time. Look at me, I was admitted into the Auror program without ever taking my N.E.W.T.s, let alone getting the kind of marks officially needed to enter,” Harry says.

“There’s really no comparison,” Hermione says. “But I’ll do some research, see if there’s precedent in Wizarding law.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry says, feeling grateful for having such good friends. “I think I should go.”

Hermione nods shortly and throws herself into Harry’s arms for a hug. Her hair tickles his face, as usual, and it’s a welcome feeling. Ron clears his throat and when Hermione pulls back he leans in for a hug of his own. It’s short but heartfelt. 

“Where’re you headed?” Ron asks. Harry starts to take a handful of floo powder but then stops himself. He’ll Apparate. 

“I was going to go back to Hogwarts, but … I should talk to Ginny,” Harry says slowly. 

Ron smiles happily, but Hermione looks more resigned. As usual, she knows the most without being told.

* * *

He Apparates to a hill nearby the Burrow and stares at the rambling house while he thinks. He doesn’t know what to say to Ginny. He wants to be honest, but he doesn’t think full disclosure is the right way to go. Especially when said disclosure would include admitting his feelings for his former professor -- feelings he’s only barely admitted to himself. 

He starts walking down the hill, his mind spinning. He’s not sure if Ginny is owed anything after the way she reacted to his magic that day two weeks before. Has it only been two weeks? It seems much longer, the days stretching out and brimming full of new experiences and feelings. 

Somehow, she knows he’s coming and meets him at the back door. Outside the door, actually. It’s closed behind her. She has her hands clasped in front of her and she’s fidgeting with them. Her eyes are downcast, though she looks up and then back down a few times before she speaks.

“You said you weren’t coming,” she says.

“I decided that was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so sharp with you,” Harry says. “I didn’t have time to warn you I was coming, though; I just decided while I was at Ron and Hermione’s.”

She looks up then, biting her lip. “You went to see them first,” she says, but it’s not accusing. Good.

“They’re my best friends in the world; I had to set things right with them,” Harry says.

The sun is starting to go down and there’s a breeze. An autumn chill makes Harry pull his cloak around himself more tightly and Ginny looks like she’s debating whether or not to let him in. She must decide the risk is too great, and in the end they stand there at the back steps, watching each other uncomfortably.

“So. Is that what you’re here to do, Harry?” Ginny asks. “Do you want to set things right with _me_?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says honestly. “I just wanted to come and tell you my magic is under control. No more exploding dishware. And I want to replace all I destroyed.”

“Is that all?” Ginny asks, a tinge of impatience to her voice.

“It was an accident. I’m sorry, but that’s what it was.”

“No, I mean, aren’t you going to...” she says, but trails off. “Harry, I waited so long for you, it was awful but I did it because I thought a future with you was what we both wanted.”

That’s the perfect opening, one Harry should use to explain he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. It seems harsh, though, and he doesn’t want to hurt her. He says nothing.

“Harry?” Ginny says. “Do you still want a future with me?”

There’s a lump in Harry’s throat that doesn’t go away even when he swallows against it. “No.”

“Oh. Just like that,” Ginny says softly. She finally sits down on the top step and wraps her arms around her knees. “I guess I deserve it, reacting the way I did.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry says. “You were right to be afraid, at least a little. But I’m not punishing you.”

“So in the space of a fortnight you decided you don’t want me anymore?” Ginny asks. She looks up at him with wide, wet eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry says, at a loss. He doesn’t know what to do with crying.

“It’s too late for that, I think,” Ginny says.

Harry shakes his head. “I should go. There’s nothing more to say.”

“At least tell me why!” Ginny says, a hitch in her voice.

Harry takes a deep breath. “There’s no one reason. It’s a lot of little reasons, and a couple of big ones, but it mostly comes down to this: I don’t love you, Ginny. Not the way you deserve to be loved.”

Ginny nods and wipes at the tears on her cheeks. “Alright. I’m glad … I’m glad you told me the truth.”

“Goodbye,” Harry says, and walks back up the hill to the orchard, then Apparates away.

* * *

Two weeks later, the castle is much improved. Harry is feeling a bit run down, though. Between working at Hogwarts with Snape and repairing half of Diagon Alley and some homes in Hogsmeade, there has been little time to relax. The reconstruction is going well, though, both for the people affected by the war and for Harry’s public image. The _Prophet_ is once again calling him a Savior -- which still makes Harry uncomfortable; why can’t they find a happy medium? -- and even when he performs wandless, wordless magic publically there’s only a little discomfort in those around him.

Hogwarts castle itself is still in disrepair, but McGonagall remarks one day at dinner that if they keep at it as they have, the school may even open after the winter hols. 

“What we need to focus on next are the wards, I think,” she says between bites of meat pie.

“I don’t know anything about warding spells,” Harry says. “Except how to break Dark ones, I s’pose.”

Snape takes a sip of wine and looks Harry over. “I believe Potter should take a day or two to study the practicalities and fundamentals of wards before we attempt anything. It wouldn’t do to have him tangle the new ones hopelessly or muck up what we have now.” He says it with a small quirk of his lips that Harry would never have noticed a month ago. He notices now. He notices everything about Snape, listens to every word, and hears what the man isn’t saying.

“I do need the break, I think,” Harry says. “Thank you.”

A small nod is the only acknowledgment he gets.

McGonagall is peering closely at him, now. “Harry Potter, are you wearing a glamour?”

Surprised, Harry drops it. “Did it slip or something?” He knows it didn’t, though. His magic is utterly dependable now.

“I have a brain, Mr. Potter,” she says, eyeing him disapprovingly. “And now that I can see, I have to say: you look like rubbish.”

“You flatterer,” Harry deadpans.

Snape huffs a laugh. “She’s not wrong. Go to bed early tonight, then worry about warding tomorrow.”

It’s a tempting thought. He has a few owls to send before he turns in, though; people he’s promised to help need to know not to expect him for a few days.

After dinner, after the sent owls, he lets himself collapse into bed. It’s still early by his standards, and he sleeps a straight eight hours. When he wakes, it’s still dark. He rolls over but he’s wide awake now, and his magic is already buzzing to be used.

Perhaps buzzing is the wrong word. His magic is like water, and he’s a vessel for it. If he’s not careful, it spills over the top, making strange things happen in his path. Thankfully his magic seems to take on Harry’s own personality, so what occurs are things like perfect golden snitches appearing out of nowhere and then zipping off to parts unknown. Or sometimes small spaces are enlarged; his own wardrobe in his rooms is now the approximate size and indoor area of the TARDIS. (Since Hermione sat him down for _Doctor Who_ he’s been even more impressed with ‘bigger on the inside’ wizard spaces.)

His magic so far hasn’t been dangerous, even in its accidental, ‘overspilling’ form. 

But now it laps at him in waves, beginning to move like a light ocean storm, and before long it will be churning and rushing all through him like rapids. So many water analogies, yet these are the most apt ways to describe it.

He steps out of bed and into his slippers. The robe he throws on is warm enough to combat the chilly stone corridors. He walks without purpose, his hand on the walls, and behind his dragging fingers springs a new tapestry, woven with lions and ravens and badgers and snakes. It’s Hogwarts, after all. He stops to see what he’s done and the portrait behind him wakes long enough to say, “Beautiful work, dearie,” in a sleepy voice.

It’s nice that the portraits felt safe enough to all come back. 

He walks for another half hour before he stops, surprised to find himself in front of Snape’s rooms. He stands there, knowing it’s much too early to knock, but he can’t find it in himself to leave. He doesn’t know what to do with his feelings for Snape.

He doesn’t just want to lean on the man anymore. He doesn’t just want to kiss him, either.

The door opens unexpectedly. “How long were you planning to stand outside my quarters, Potter?”

Flustered, Harry waves and says, “Sorry. I know it’s early...” He should be retreating now before he’s done something foolish, but he’s rooted to the spot.

“I was awake. And even if I wasn’t, my wards would have told me you were there,” Snape says. He’s doing the lip-quirk thing again, and Harry can tell he’s not actually put out.

“I didn’t know wards could do that,” Harry says stupidly.

Snape gives an exasperated sigh and says, “Come in.”

Harry obeys. He’s not been in Snape’s quarters for a long time, and certainly not since he started seeing the other man as a _man_. He can’t help but wonder what this invitation means.

“Tea?” Snape asks. Harry shakes his head. Snape tilts his head and gives Harry a piercing look. “How is your magic?”

Harry laughs. “Sloshy,” he says, just as the chair beneath him becomes bigger and softer. When Harry looks down at it, he realizes it’s now a warm golden color where only a minute ago it was a muted gray. “Sorry.”

Snape smiles without showing any teeth. “It’s better now. But do not add a garish Gryffindor pattern to it or I’ll chop you up for potions.”

“I can’t really control it, so...” Harry says with a laugh. 

“We should work on that,” Snape says. The thought of more one-on-one lessons with Snape is both heaven and hell. Hell because how will he ever get through them without giving in to his feelings?

But Harry wasn’t put in the lion’s house for nothing. He’s brave and somewhat reckless, and he knows that sooner or later he’s going to end up giving in and showing Snape just what’s what.

Or maybe he should slow down and use his words.

Swallowing down his nerves, Harry says, “I want to thank you again for-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Snape says mildly. “You’ve thanked me enough already.” He walks closer and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks up at him, wishing he knew what Snape was thinking, even a little bit.

“We could work on your control right now if you wanted,” Snape says. That would account for the hand on Harry’s shoulder. Still, it’s almost as if Snape _likes_ touching Harry.

“Not right now,” Harry says, but grabs Snape’s hand before he can pull away. Snape looks surprised for a moment, but then his eyes narrow in thought. 

“What are you...” Snape says.

Harry stands so that they’re eye to eye. Well, Harry has to look up a bit. The point where their hands are meeting becomes warm with energy as Harry’s unspent magic rushes through his arm and spills out, raw but benign, to touch Snape.

Snape moans. Harry doesn’t know what, exactly, his magic is doing, but Snape steps forward and takes his other hand. At first he does nothing else except close his eyes, but then...

Then he’s bringing Harry’s other hand up to cup his cheek and the room is suddenly bright with the warm gold glow of Harry’s magic, which is flowing across Snape’s skin and making him moan again.

“You like that?” Harry asks hoarsely.

Snape opens his eyes again and they are black with what Harry recognizes as lust. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling like he’s about to fall off his broom if he doesn’t hang on with both hands. So he does the most impetuous thing he can think of and presses his lips to Snape’s.

Somehow -- there is probably more magic involved -- they make it back to Snape’s bedroom. Harry has never been with a man and Snape is probably woefully out of practice, but somehow it works. It must help to have a sheen of magic over both of their bodies, rivulets and drops of pure ecstasy (because that is what Harry’s magic is doing now, giving as much pleasure as possible) that splashes and pools as they go on.

Clothes come off, but Harry doesn’t have time to feel uncomfortable in his nakedness with Snape; he’s too busy touching every bared inch of the other man with his fingertips and palms and pure magical energy. A small part of his mind is telling him sex isn’t usually so literally magic, and he has some awkward fumbling with Ginny to attest to that, but that part is tiny and inconsequential. 

When they press against each other for the first time, it’s like melting into an oblivion of pleasure. Then there’s no time or thought for the mechanics of sex, only feeling and pushing and rocking and white-hot need that explodes far too quickly into mutual orgasms. It’s messy and sticky and utterly amazing.

Harry opens his eyes some minutes later and finds himself tucked in under Snape’s arm, his head resting on the other man’s shoulder. “Mmmkay?”

And Snape laughs. “Not what I was expecting, but yes, Harry. That was more than okay.” How he can speak so clearly is a mystery.

“More later,” Harry proclaims with his eyes already closed.

“Yes,” Snape promises.

He (they) are utterly spent. Harry is only half-awake when he feels a warm cloth run over his belly and thighs and groin, but he manages a sleepy, “Thanks.” He’ll feel bad about not thinking of cleaning up later. For now, he’s just going to press up alongside Snape and turn his face into a neck that smells like sweat and satisfaction.


End file.
